mp3 copout: audiosports

Softball today. All I have to show for my efforts this time is a left thumb that looks like a link sausage. Therefore, today's unearthed audio file is of me kicking ass at a perhaps slightly less athletic sport: boules (or petanque, if you're snooty about it):

hydrocarbon atlantis

[Chris Jordan makes fantastic images of sifted waste. I can't help but imagine Scrooge McDuck swimming in this pile of cellphones.]

Yesterday, I found out (thanks to BLDGBLOG) that Shell Oil Plans to create 1,700 ft high walls of ice in shale under the Rocky Mountains. This is to prevent groundwater contamination when they pump 800 billion gallons of crude sequestered in Colorado, Wyoming and Montana.

Today, NY Magazine told me about a much smaller oil deposit -- only in the range of 30 million gallons -- that is notable because a) it sits in the middle of Brooklyn, and b) it is manmade (thanks, Mobil!). BLDGBLOG made a quick notice of this one as well.

This oil is going to be massively expensive to recover, and it's not crude but an amalgam of decayed motor oil, benzene and other lovely poisons, but all the same, how long is it going to be before we start mining our own waste? Thanks to microelectronics, there is a higher concentration of gold in some landfills than in many mines. The only problem is that current recovery methods would be as destructive and messing as strip-and-leach mining already is; in other words, we'd just be making a lovely soup out of our trash and sucking up what we like. Kind of makes me think that the real action of much of industry is to select and purify specific, rare materials, make intricate weavings of these threads of pure stuff, and then pulverize these assemblies and scatter them into a giant pit.

total control

The Isle of Man TT Race turned one hundred last weekend.


The thirty-seven mile circumference of this island, located between England and Ireland, is completed in about seventeen and a half minutes, by motorcyclists, frequently exceeding 150 miles an hour. The world record lap time features an average speed of 129.451 mph.


The villages along the race path are often transited in only a few seconds. For the entire day of the race, motor traffic is shut down, and over 600 volunteers are placed in a continuous line of sight along the entire course. In this way, the entire 37 mile journey is witnessed and protected, not unlike that of Xiang Xiang, the panda whose "return to the wild" was recorded in minute detail until her death.


In the past century the Isle of Man TT has claimed 226 lives. At current speeds, in the two-lap race, this is a death every 15 minutes. To add to this insanity of velocity, there is the annual "Mad Sunday" in which any member of the public can run the 1300 foot mountain section of the course. To those of you that wonder what this might have to do with architecture, may Marinetti visit you in your sleep (as the ghost of futurism's past, of course), crashing ancient motor cars into your dreams.

(All images courtesy of Wikipedia.)

fris-being

Went to the season opener for Sam's summer-league ultimate team (go blue!). They won, of course, and we also got to dig out and play with my over-powered pre-digital flash from high school. Dragging the shutter is the coolest.

virtual provence

Continuing on my perusal of old recordings.

To go here:

Look at this:



While listening to this:

now back to our regular programming (dreamsketch 3)

But first, a brief moment of silence for new beginnings.




Dreamsketch 3: alcove with light panel.
(the most hastily and blearily composed to date)

Here we have, at the ceiling of an unfathomably cavernous space, a narrow, long alcove hidden behind sliding frosted glass doors, in which there are a few concrete benches and a panel emitting a sodium-lamp orange shade of light. The air is hot, still, and tinged with ozone. There is a dry stifling wind in the open space beyond. There is no sunlight.

weekend copout: audio edition

Came across this old field recording from my brief stint abroad and thought I should share it. I remember the guy playing guitar in the background being obnoxious at the time but given some distance the music seems perfect. Bonus 10 points if you can tell me what the people to my left are talking about.

maybe they should have tried an oil-based product

Jean long ago sent me the thrillingly titled "Transportation and Urban Development in Houston, 1830-1980," written by Peter Papademetriou of the Houston Metro. Thank you, Jean. I just went back through it and read the really early parts, and I have a passage to share with you:

As a result of [expanding] commercial traffic, early improvements in transportation facilities were undertaken by private businessmen... in 1850 a group of merchants [including William Marsh Rice] formed the Houston Plank Road Company, a plan to construct a road of two-inch oak or three-inch pine planks. However, growing interest in the railroads led to cancellation of the project and through the 1870's even the streets in the town of Houston itself remained dirt, except for an ill-fated shell paving project of 1858 which contributed to the phenomenon of dust rising in clouds, a complementary nuisance to the mud which otherwise plagued city residents. (p.7)

It's tempting to imagine wooden highways stretching as far as the eye can see, met by offramps white with conchs and cowries. The reality is absent or, in any case, far less compelling, but it does make one salient point-- the technologies we use for paving are not self-evident or even necessarily the best. We tried wood and calcite, and then concrete and asphalt somehow stuck. But when the overpasses start crumbling, maybe they'll get replaced by stabilized earth, or close-mowed turf, or piezoelectric thermoplastics. If we're supposed to imagine jetpacks and spaceports, why shouldn't the surface under our feet undergo the same prospective futurity?

Ginsu Rudolph

So another Paul Rudolph house is threatened with demolition. The owners still claim to love it, but it's just not big enough for them any more. Apparently they've gotten much larger over the years. But this time, two men come to the rescue, cutting it precisely in half, trimming off three inches so it will fit on some trucks and removing it from its beachfront location to some ex- summer camp in the mountains.

Now, there are lots of sides to take in this story, from a simple congratulatory stance to disappointment to appreciation of the surreality of making a building exactly three inches shorter and completely removing it from context. These are all valid positions and emotions, but what each instance of this kind of story brings up to me is what provides the value in residential architecture. Many famous residential structures were never homes to begin with-- they were "pavilions." And other ones (the Glass House, pretty much everything by Corbusier) now exist mainly as an odd combination of personal monument, history museum, and technological archive. But what about those famous homes that people stubbornly insist on still using as domiciles? Aren't they producing their own kind of domestic value? If a famous house becomes a museum, has it succeeded or failed?

Rudolph, like Lautner, is a good test case for this stuff because, in the midst of the architectural expression, all of this complex geometry and rhythm of line, there was a genuine interest in the domesticity of the space itself. Rudolph himself once said that a famous tensioned-roof lakehouse he designed was a failure because the reverse bow to the roof made the spaces look outward, and houses should always look in on themselves, on the hearth. I don't want to sound too nostalgic here, but what paradigm-defining offices operating today are trying to simultaneously push the boundaries of practice while also developing and satisfying a genuine interest in the lives and home-spaces of their clients? I kind of feel that at some point, while being taught the history of modern architecture through the Villa, we forgot that people used to live in these houses.

deconstricting

Went to our favorite beach again today, and on the way back, I realized that another reason I like the beach so much is that the drive there takes you through the Ballona wetlands.


This area has fortunately been protected from development, and exists as an immense marshy plain, bisected by Playa Vista road, and bordered by the marina, cliffs, the 90 overpass, and the hideously ugly 40-foot wall of the Playa Del Rey lofts. With the condo towers of Marina Del Rey like foothills in the distance, it's like having a scale model of the original valley in your own backyard. As can be seen above this swath of negative space is oriented such that it collects the sunsets every day, washing its interior with smog-enhanced reds and oranges. Somewhere between the waterlogged ground plane, the sulfuric sky full of pelicans, the immense void and a single road both scenic and free of traffic, a uniquely local public space has collected. It is primarily a vital component of the local ecosystem, but with all of the fencing and culverts helping the wetlands to regain a foothold and build in biodiversity, I prefer to think of it as a gigantic piece of land art, LA's own Smithson. A bird/plant/amphibian/sunlight collecter for the West Side.

two los angeles

When I first heard about cityLAB, Dana Cuff and Robert Sherman's urban futures research program at UCLA, it took me almost a year until I actually went to their website and looked at the work, today. Not knowing the work of either person, I was expecting some well researched but MOR urban solutions-- streetscape improvement, transportation solutions, you know the drill.


What I found was so much more. Two of their projects in particular, LA2016 and PropX: lessons learned, are a delirious combination of projective urbanism and dystopian realism that manages not to flinch away from the big decisions while refusing to mediate between poles. It is sustainable without being green, specific without being perscriptive and comprehensive without being totalitarian. The work frequently toes the line between solution and dystopia, and dances around the difficult questions by posing its own, better ones. It may sound from this description that I love their work. A more accurate description is that I am terrified by it.


Inverted pyramid megastructures above the freeways, inhabitable beach mutations, and postapocalyptic tract housing inhabited by the last existing motorheads-- sometimes it's more exciting than realistic, but we have plenty of realistic urbanisms, thank you. So, all I have to say, is take a look at it, and laugh, promote, or recoil in horror. I think they're looking for all three of those reactions.


___

On the other end of the spectrum, also strangely compelling for entirely different reasons, is the UCLA Urban Simulation Team. This group is dedicated to making a rediculously detailed 3d model of, well, all of Los Angleles. "The model is accurate enough for the graffiti on the walls and signs in the windows to be legible."


These models, built on top of the 3d GIS surveys, are intended for use by urban planners, emergency response teams, transportation planners, and, in a slightly more sinister fashion, security consultants. More interestingly, they claim that "this system is being extended to support a client server capability which will allow the seamless interactive navigation of the entire Virtual Los Angeles Model... while simultaneously supporting hundreds of remote interactive users."




So what do we have here? An accurate, detailed, comprehensive 3d model of one of the largest cities in the world, that can be used simultaneously by many people in real-time. I think sometimes the future creeps up on us because the websites look boring. I'll leave it up to you to imagine what you most want done with this waiting terabyte of virtual city, but personally I'm starting my Godzilla model tomorrow.

a single tear

My readership of the New York Times is sometimes challenged by articles, usually ones in the House and Home section, or Style, or this time, in Travel, where an article just appeared about the tribulations of the second home.

(emphasis added):

“The vegetable garden — the production of too many vegetables, and the guilt of not eating them,” said Susan E. Bell, a paleontologist from New York City, who with her husband, Byron, an architect, owns a house he designed in Woodstock, N.Y. “And then, of course, all the effort it takes to persuade the house guests to take the vegetables with them. And then the guilt if you don’t have house guests: you feel guilty not to be sharing your house with your friends, who are stuck in the city.”

Do the Bells, like so many others, eventually want to retire to their weekend house, which is on 50 acres between two waterfalls and has 96 windows, some of them unwashed since it was built? “Oh, no,” Mr. Bell said. “We want to retire to New York City — and relax!”

I am convinced that many of the life-style writers at the NYT just make up people when they need anecdotes. This, in my world, does not exist. There are no paleontologists with 50 acre compounds in Woodstock, and they certainly don't complain about their largesse if they do exist. This sort of interview creates some kind of freakish magnetic affect that makes me want to go back to NY while still avoiding it completely.

ricardo is my fave

There's a new article in Metropolis online in the "speak truth to power" category. And while I agree with most of the (rather broad) formulations--the most famous does not equate with the most talented, iconic buildings are often one-dimensional-- I really can't rally behind the whole argument.

First off, the article seems to be equates "starchitecture" with theory-driven unbuilt work, which seems to me to be patently untrue. The most recognisable architects of the moment, Gehry and Liebskind,have been spending the last decade (or at least the last five years)building continuously and steadily. And while I appreciate a trulycritical review of theICA Boston, I don't think that Diller Scofidio + Renfrocan really be fit into the star category, no matter how you shove. Maybe among students and critics, but certainly not the general populace.

I also think it's somewhat backhanded to say the building is slapdash or hackneyed-- this is an enormously complex project that pushes the boundaries in a number of ways (especially for
Boston). In addition, an even cursory perusal ofDS+R's work would point to the fact that this firm actuallyhas a rather deep understanding of the way buildings work on an urban scale; whatever problems the street front of this building has, to simply attribute it universally to the fame of the firm in general is the kind of lazy criticism the article started out fighting against. It
seems to me that perhaps this particular critic doesn't like a)Starchitects or b)Conceptulaized practice, and is attempting to conflate the two to kill two birds with one stone.

An one last note-- any kind of blanket criticism of work by any firm based upon it's fame inside or outside the profession ignores a very important fact-- these offices are chock-full of the smartest graduates from the best schools in the last five years. They'revertiable hives of budding archigenious. Despite the failings of any particular Gehry or OMA project, there is usually a shocking amount of good idea per square yard, if you look closely enough. In my opinion, the mediocrity ofstarchitecture is less often due to the ego of the principal* and more often the result of a combination of incredible complexity of program, high expectations, and too much importance placed upon iconic status or innovation for innovation's sake. Such buildings become overworked or hackneyed because of all of the attention paid, not despite it.

*Unless your first name is Zaha or your last name is Nouvel.

all things considered would never consider me

A (selected) list of names to prove why I could never be an announcer or host on any NPR program, local or national (nasal voice and stutter aside.)

Marin Alsop
Karen Grigsby Bates
Kajon Cermak
Thea Chaloner
Farai Chideva
Andrei Codrescu
Korva Coleman
E.J. Dionne
Mandalit del Barco
Priya Finnemore
Corey Flintoff
David Folkenflik
Lourdes Garcia-Navarro
Tre Giles
Tom Gjelten
Vertamae Grosvenor
Charlayne Hunter-Gault
Danyell Irby
Ina Jaffe
Xeni Jardin
Sasha Khoka
Soraya Sarhaddi Nelson
Vy Pham
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Guy Raz
Kai Risdahl
Cokie Roberts
Lakshmi Singh
JC Swiatek
Neda Ulaby
Nick van der Kolk
Doualy Xaykaothao
John Ydstie
Daniel Zwerdling

I am afraid that my name is simply too boring.

pt 2

I thought that post was a little lame so here's some augmentation:

The NYTimes graphic department has done another fantastic job, this time describing the new supercollider in Europe. I say "Europe," because the tunnel, 300 feet down and nearly 17 miles in circumfrence, goes beneath both France and Switzerland. It's the Twin Cities of subatomic particles. It's funny, what with the "primordial fire", acceleration to the speed of light, and 7000-ton cameras, what I'm most impressed by is the idea of a 17 mile underground circle. Makes me want to go for a run-- who wants to be in the supercollider half marathon? You start with your backs facing, pass each other once, and end with a photo-collision finish.

myspace mccluhan

I'm kind of surprised that nobody has yet written a popular analysis of what different social networking sites say about our relationship to different creative media. So I'm going to attempt an off-the-cuff index, right now (in order of the complexity of involved technology):

text: people apparently find it the most natural to either produce public journals, or convey in a viral fashion tiny bits of social information. Not much fiction, not much strict journalism, but a whole lot in-between.

photos: once again, not a terribly surprising outcome: most of the action is in the form of complusive indexing, sharing, and commenting. One interesting note is that the division between pro and amateur is blurring, as home operators get flashier websites and pros start making "high-caste" flickr groups. You don't see Michael Gondry posting on YouTube.

visual art: other than websites themselves, the bulk of popular graphic design appears to be in the Clever T-Shirt area. Go fig.

audio: the "podcast revolution" hasn't exactly exploded-- i think everyone underestimated how difficult it is to write, perform, and edit an entertaining and cohesive audio narrative. In addition to the more prosaic mp3 blog concept, a more interesting phenomenon is the almost immediate and universal adoption of MySpace by performers, remixers, and fans. There were many previous attempts to make a social networking site specifically for performers and bands, but what this ignored is that there's no reason to have a presence if you can't contact the people who buy your records.

and, video: was anyone else surprised that there is more collective national skill in editing video than audio or writing? YouTube does have a soft core of crappy-resolution digicam videos, but the outer shell is finely-crafted amateur commercials, shorts, and music videos. I guess it shouldn't be that shocking-- my generation's favorite childhood toy might have been the parent's video camera. How many tons of magnetic tape have been used to immotalize 1980's puppet shows and child-auteur plays?

The only quick conclusion I can draw from all of this is that media are not interchangable, and that some are more naturally social. Text is probably at the bottom of the barbaric yawp list right now, actually, superceded by the flickr photoset-- probably from the temptation of the biggest vacation slideshow ever made. There's also the wonderful fiction of objectivity created by an image. So you heard it here, folks-- if you have something to say to 10 million strangers, say it with a picture. Or even better, a moving picture. It'll last longer.

tuesday cop out

Full story here.

ways to understand a song is your new favorite song

You hear the last 30 seconds on the radio, after which there are three more, worse songs. The DJ then comes on and either manages to avoid naming the fantastic song, or mumbles it, or dies midsyllable. This is without fail.

You hear it at a friend's house, low in the background, and they notice your attention drifting to the stereo, turn it up, and tell you how awesome it is.

You make it to the record store once in a blue moon, pick an album based on the cover art or band name, and every song through the album is increasingly more incredible until it peaks, usually at the end of what would have been side a. Or maybe the beginning of b.

Somebody emails you a video and tells you it's mind-blowing, and you don't believe them and ignore it for a few days, and then in a fit of boredom watch it, and they are right.

Most often-- you hear about how great some album is but it's only a few weeks until your birthday/christmas/secretaries day and so you wait, and you get exactly what you wished for, this album, and you rush and put it in your cd player/ipod/gramophone player and it's so underwhelming and flat that you can't get through a single song. You keep skipping ahead to find the great one, the one that made other people love this album so much, but eventually it just loops back to one, you hear that first chord or beat again, and you give up. It then sits dormant for 6-8 weeks (sometimes even longer). Eventually you notice it sitting there, get curious, and play it agian, almost invariably in your car. Somehow you preternaturally know to turn the volume up before even the first track is cued, and then when that first sound is made it gives you the chills, and you begin slapping every hard piece of vinyl you can find and wiggle your butt the few inches of freedom the car seat allows, and pump the gas. Basically, you do the lame-ass car dance we all know and avoid in company, singing along only in the chorus, because you do not know the words. The tiny imprint each chord made on your brain the first time is now a deep well that accepts the massive noise coming out of your speakers. You always reach your destination before you want to. You always sit until the track is over. And it is never that good again.

facial transformer

Weak, I know, but today all I have is a link.

Terrifying, inaccurate, and vaguely eugenic.

More here.

dreamsketch 2

This bleary-eyed sketch appears to involve an enormous disk-shaped elevator (mediating between an office tower and a parking garage if I remember--pretty banal for a dream). The outer rim of the elevator is a gigantic rubber gasket, followed by an equally humongous inflated cushion area, with a small ring of trees in the center. The cushion undulates slowly as the elevator descends. Despite the complete lack of guardrails, I remember being pretty calm on the ride down.

ps- These sketches are done quickly and while not yet totally awake. I swear I can do better.

houston's past future

Jean has been doing some amazing research for a project we are doing on the Pierce Elevated in downtown Houston. In the process, she uncovered a series of diagrams made by Arthur Colemen Comey, a landscape architecture from Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a report on the urban landscape of Houston in 1913. These diagrams are engrossing, first of all, for the detail in their rendering (sorry, can't get more detail from the scans), and their graphic clarity, but also because they represent an inconceivably different Houston that is so foreign and compelling as to invite historical revisionism and speculation. To Wit (click for a larger version):


A unique method of denoting population. Note, despite the fact that "white" and "colored" populations are marked separately, these populations appear to be more integrated spatially than they are today.


Once again, a unique "property value topography" map. It's been a while since Houston was this center-weighted.


Wouldn't it be nice if we had a ring of wetlands instead of the 610?


Children walking, alone, to public parks with paid attendants? What is this, Cuba?



These streetscapes seem almost quaint in their scaling. Streetcars? Pedestrians?

It's easy to dip into nostalgia for a prewar America looking at the last few images, and I do think that the scale and civic nature of what is suggested there is something that Houston should be striving for right now. But the fact is, this city will never obtain this kind of scale again. So the question becomes: what do we like about this imaginary Houston of 1913? And what can we do now, almost 100 years later, that can improve upon those desires? After all, this was a city that hadn't made it yet as a major metropolis, and yet was already struggling with infrastructure and traffic. It was a city still searching for a good port and native industry, and was occasionally crippled by outbreaks of typhoid or even tuberculosis. It was a city that had a ward system that divided its populace into informal castes. This is not a city to be nostalgic about. So how can we take the fever dreams of an impossibly remote city, and translate them into our future? That's not a rhetorical question. It's one that demands answers.

roboats rowbots

I just returned from the BLDGBLOG filmfest, and things are probably still too close to really make a salient comment, but here's a first shot before I collapse.

Watching these (fairly fast-paced) slideshow presentations was watching architectural expressionism brought to an extreme (and often ludicrous) end, over and over and over again. A general formal concept or analogy was adopted, adapted, transformed, and repeated until it formed a unified backdrop for cinematic action. It made me feel like I had two options: scoff or accept. Either these people were ridiculous and their work has no real effect on the built environment, or I would have to realize that these people are condensing the stuff of our present futurity, registering how our society thinks we should be building, today, for tomorrow. There did not seem to be a middle ground; how can you mediate between those two poles? From my phrasing you can probably tell which side I landed on. Yes, a lot of the work was based upon previous ideas of futurity, whether HG Wells or Star Wars. Yes, these projects are (as professed by the artists) a flimsy shell around a few salient angles and overall ideas, only meant to stand up for a few seconds, from a few angles. The images are created at incredible speed, populated and then filtered by committee until something approximating the right tone is reached. In other words, these are not bold singular visions or demands; they are collaged approximations of a conjectural moment. And, as such, they are actually more powerful, because this makes them thin and nimble enough to cut holes in our accepted reality.

Some of this work was so similar to the current glossy techno-expressionism as to seem almost a parody; but honestly, if this stuff is a valid way of approaching architecture, how would these guys do if given a thousand percent more time, and the constraints of reality? It's been acceptable for the last thirty-odd years to profess admiration for previous incarnations of stage-set architecture, from Versailles to Las Vegas. So why does Disneyland have a current monopoly on obsessively detailed falsity? Why aren't these guys doing casinos? Why can I go to any high-end shopping center and get rigorously approximated pasts, but no futures? There is room for some biomorphic aggregation in my local strip mall. I can feel it.

the difference between cake and architecture

A cake cannot take more than 1 week to complete.

People rarely respect a cake, but fundamentally disagree with it.

If you make a fantastic cake, most people will eat it and enjoy it.

If you make a delicious cake of dubious beauty, people will remark on how tasty it is.

If you make a beautiful but slightly bland cake, people will tell you how good it looks.

Cake writing is usually brief and entertaining.

There are no cake consultants.

Non-bakers, when they see a cake, will frequently say "Ooo! Cake!"

Reading about it, you probably want some cake right now.

i suppose crap is, in its own way, sustainable

I went to the "Sustainable LA" Short Films Program at the Silverlake Film Festival. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly didn't get it. It felt like the curators of the event didn't prescreen anything-- the vast majority of the films were either 1)Promos, 2)PSAs, or 3)Made-for-the web shorts that really needed some explanation in order to make any sense. Watching a six-minute time-lapse of the erection of a cold storage facility was cool, but I needed to go home and find this to gain any perspective (or even find out what the hell it had to do with sustainability). A bunch of the other stuff fell into the predicable traps of either being shrill and lecturing, self-congratulatory, or overly positivistic and boosterish. Worse than that was the fifteen minute, silent photo slide show from Sundown Schoolhouse. I left wanting to punch these guys in the face-- I don't want to blow a quarter-hour in a dark room watching what my friends did over the weekend, much less complete strangers. It was incomprehensible, pretentious, slow torture.

I'm sorry, I guess I needed to vent. Not everything was bad-- a good quickie from Wolfpack, an impressive tour of the Path to Freedom "urban homestead," and a to-the-point water quality PSA were brief gasps of quality. But the star of the hour was the first piece by Edible Estates, of their second project in Lakewood. This is an organization that has been replacing normative suburban front lawns with fully functioning vegetable gardens. This piece was compelling not because it was slickly produced or even because of it's sustainable qualities (it's roughly identical to any side-yard veggie garden), but because it was the only point at which any real extrapolation of green activism to the general public was even attempted. The Path to Freedom project is incredible in its breath and depth, but is ultimately impossible for the average family-- all these people do is farm their lot. The interview with the owner of the Edible Estates project, rather than focusing on cubic yards of landfill saved or carbon interred, talked about how the garden has re-introduced him to his neighbors, how the family's relationship with food has changed, and most interestingly how his yard is now a usable space for his children. He relates the transformation of what is essentially a no-man's land, a defensible zone, into a mediating space between public and private, between his sidewalk and kitchen. The point is made that in most houses, the front lawn is something between vestigial and decorative. It only makes a tiny change to make it perform. I left the whole event not wanting to buy a home composter, or bike to work, or petition for a cleaner bay, but instead wanting to plant bell peppers in my front yard. Mmmmm bell peppers.

military urbanism

Tianamen Square might be undergoing some changes soon. According to Ma Yansong, an urban planner charged with updating the square, the problem is

"Tiananmen is ... the physical centre but not the real centre. No Beijing people go there... The question we posed ourselves was, how to make the area more enjoyable if we no longer need it for tanks?"

The obvious angle on all of this is the rapid transitions taking place in China. The country as a whole seems to have just discovered the concept of Public Relations, and perhaps this is an extension of that. I'm not nearly an expert so I'll reserve my comments in that arena.

Another tack would be these traumas themselves, and discussing the healing process that has to take place in any public space undergoing transition. The strategy here to me seems to be remarkably similar to that used in other historically charged spaces... the (perhaps unfounded) belief that enough trees and grass can obviate any kind of cultural trauma. Call it the "green band-aid effect."

But what I really want to explore is the question posed, verbatim, from the hired architect above. Paraphrased, how have changes in military strategy changed urban design? Many of the world's most famous squares and plazas were created, in part, as parade routes, assembly grounds, or simply to commemorate a famous victory (or less common, a famous loss). These are rigidly controlled, immense grounds for the massing and geometric arraying of huge numbers of individuals. With the advent of modern military technology, this began to include motorcycles, cars, cannons, and tanks, as well as infantry. Anyone who lays out their pens in a line on their desk can appreciate the joys of assembly.

The future of the military, however, seems to exist on two divergent paths. One is the development of hugely expensive technology operated by an increasingly smaller number of specialists. The culmination of this kind of thinking is currently the fighter jet, so the public face of this sort of military thinking is probably the Blue Angels. With all of the action taking place overhead, the fixed vantage becomes less important, and the idea of "massing" becomes obsolete (sports stadiums and rock concerts being a notable exception.) The event is played out as vectors and trajectories, not as geometry and arithmetic.

The other future we're seeing right now, one that is much more immediate, is urban warfare. Small teams of highly trained people that work in a loose network across a constantly varying and incredibly complex three dimensional terrain. Once again, the concept of assembly and ordered arrangement is almost entirely foreign. This kind of military might is more often shown in a likewise atomization, in cable news and advertisements and blog entries. It is "embedded" into our consciousness, not displayed outright.

So what is the future of military urbanism? The former implies a distant vantage, about noise and movement, someone unrelated to the ground below. The other effects a pervasive background chatter that colors everything but never concentrates to a physical reality. I feel that these forces are somewhat expressed in, on one hand, the increasing inhuman scale and speed of streetscapes, and on the other the increasing reliance on surveillance and control in the public realm. Freeways, after all, have a quasi-military origin, as does closed-circuit television.

Perhaps the greening of Tianamen doesn't represent the elimination of military urbanism, but rather it's utilization, atomization, and slow diffusion. Perhaps the future landscape of our cities will be as much about control and defense as it is about citizenship. We are building an entirely new form of walled city, one where the moats and battlements are part of the fabric, not surrounding it.

beaten to the punch

I've been doing a lot of research about repurposing (or dual-purposing) infrastructure as public space. But with all of my bluster, I missed something in my own backyard. The City of Santa Monica is opening its first new park in years, Airport Park. The city claims the 8.3 acre park will have "playing fields, an off-leash dog area, restrooms, picnic areas, a playground for children, parking and lots of open green space". Or rather, already has, as the grand opening was last Sunday.

The location of my favorite beach should give away the fact that I find this all terribly exciting. The fact that a) I have a dog and b) This is less than a mile from my house is just an added bonus.

Look at the last 20 years of urbanism. What percentage of new public space have been created in and around infrastructure? You have repurposed dumps, docks, and even aqueducts and elevated rails. You also have honest attempts to create viable public space between and under and even over freeways. This is just a tiny fraction of what has happened in the last twenty years. It has surpassed experimentation and is now a gradual refining of strategies to mitigate the negative aspects of the quasi-industrial (noise, pollution, access) and emphasize the positive (space, reclamation, freedom, sublimity).

So I ask: why wait until these sites are dormant or decrepit? Why shouldn't we be reclaiming this valid public space now? It's silly to assume that freeway systems and airports and power plants are a fixed quantity; all infrastructure becomes obsolete eventually. What's the fifty year plan for the space under your local freeway?

captain obvious

If I'm taking my Artist Archetype Action Figures (AAAF's) and making teams, it's pretty obvious who the Architects go with. The Photographers, the Documentary Filmmakers, Land Artists, you know. Meanwhile, the Playwrights hang out with the Screenwriters and Novelists, and Musicians (although perhaps the Musique Concrete guys might take our side.) It basically becomes the Communicators versus the Mute, the Adaptable versus the Stoic. I'm drawing a pretty wide swath here, but I think the reason you don't associate architects with the theatre (except maybe Brecht) is that we're not that interested in syntactical communication. We might talk about "reading" buildings, but we're not talking about rhetoric or story. Buildings are "read" the way that barcodes or hard drives are, as a concrete value that works as a tool on its surroundings. We don't really care if we're understood or even noticed; we just want people to do what we impel them to do.

Ruth vs. Cake Blitz

A consulting firm recently sent three sheet cakes in two weeks to our office. I think this was supposed to ingratiate us to them, but the quality kind of got in the way. A coworker, Ruth, waged war against this cake onslaught in single combat:

_____________________________________________
From: Alicia Daugherty
Sent: Tuesday, April 17, 2007 4:05 PM
To: MRA Office
Subject: cake in the kitchen

help yourself


_____________________________________________
From: Ruth Greene
Sent: Tuesday, April 17, 2007 4:07 PM
To: MRA Office
Subject: petroleum product

Alternative message:

Lethal artery-clogging DSI advertising cake in the kitchen. Had it been nice, it would have been in honor of Vinnie’s birthday tomorrow. If you indulge, suggest you drink coffee.

Maybe the acid will cut it.


_____________________________________________
From: Ruth Greene
Sent: Tuesday, April 24, 2007 2:28 PM
To: MRA Office
Subject: death cake for skeptics

Don’t really believe that arteries can get clogged?

Afraid you’re going to live too long?

There is another advertising masterpiece in the kitchen. I’m told there will be a third. Go to it!


_____________________________________________
From: Ruth Greene
Sent: Tuesday, May 01, 2007 10:22 AM
To: MRA Office
Subject: Russian Roulette

No aneurism yet? Try again! There’s another media blitz cake in the kitchen.




Personally, I ate the first cake with enthusiasm. Even the skin (yes, skin). The second I nibbled with trepidation. The third, with its Robitussin-colored fruit filling, I prodded with something approaching hatred. In my opinion, the cake won.

dreamsite1: tree-dock

I've been making quick sketches of locations that feature prominently in early-morning dreams. Here is the first one:



This is a covered inlet at a river embankment. One can swim into this channel, covered by metal grating, and then climb stairs to gain access to the split shotgun house above. There is a small waterfall where the stream transitions into the river, and at that point also is a tree, its roots wrapped around a column going into the water. If I remember correctly, the yard of the house was filled with 10-gallon drums. Read into this as you may.

modern heironymous

The ink drawings of Adam Dant are intricate, humorous, and dark, to name a few.

I like to imagine these are the inhabited prehistory of Paul Noble's deserted cities and landscapes, immense crowded landscapes of danger and strange obselescence.

This kind of omnitient-view drawing, like in the picture books of my childhood, is both thrilling and oddly sad. One can't really inhabit this space or connect with the inhabitants, there is only pity and a quiet terror that they will never escape this enclosure.

link friday

Two photo sites, disturbing and poignant in different ways. Both would probably not be served well by analysis. Both safe for work.

http://phojoe.com/forensic_compositing.html

http://denis.darzacq.revue.com/la_chute/index.html

copout

This is going to sound a bit too much like BLDGBLOG, but it's late and it's what I'm thinking about.

Artificial intelligence researchers love to compare intelligence to animals. "Human intelligence is 50 years away," they might say, "but something equivalent to a rat or small dog is just around the corner." This is an easy analog that anyone can understand (and also acknowledges the subjectivity of measuring intelligence.)

While I still can't quite imagine my trash can or car exhibiting any kind of animal intelligence (or I am too afraid to really consider it), I find the idea that my house is as smart as my dog to be almost plausible. There are, after all, lots of places in my house that I've never seen, and plenty of things that it does that are beyond my consideration. It makes noise on it's own from only solar and wind energy (especially at night), and has lived for over 60 years. Probably half of the elements on the periodic table are in my house. In short, it is ancient, unpredictable, and immensely complex. For all I know it's doing the domestic equivalent of wagging its tail right now.

as i read mason-dixon

It seems to me that the craft of surveying has lost power as it gained resolution over the last 400 years. When the above-mentioned latitude was plotted, it was marked every five miles with "crownstones" marked on one side with Charles Calvert's coat-of-arms, and the other with William Penn's. This western ray began its path at the (contemporaneous) border between Delaware and the two warring states, which was declared, quite simply, as a "twelve mile circle."

Compare this with disputing inches of fenceline between suburban homeowners, and it may seem that the heroism in this profession has leaked away, or at least has been transferred into the lasers that measure the (ever-changing) distance between the Earth and the Moon.

history by metaphor

Golf is of uncertain origin-- it may be of Scottish, Dutch or even Chinese in its inception. The slow evolution of the game, however, produced a sport that was symbiotically linked to an a priori Scottish landscape-- an ideal in curvature and greenery that, over time, has mutated into its own form, of earthworks, kidney bean shapes, and exotic grasses. What still exists, however, is the chaotic relationship of the player to the landscape-- the strategy, beyond a certain point, is almost entirely contingent upon the wind, the speed of the greens, and human emotional frailty.

Miniature golf, while of surprisingly ancient (19th century) origin, came into it's current "windmills and wishing wells" form only in the late 1930's, at the hands of Joe and Robert Taylor from Binghamton, New York. Here, the game of golf was compressed and mechanized, becoming more like pool. The greens were made plastic, and metal bumpers, tubes, and moving obstacles created a game in which pure physics play a greater role than the weather. All of the chintz and themery conceals a game which is played with needle's-eye precision.

In 1985, Nintendo released Golf, a video game. This game featured a simplistic computer modeling of the physical complexities of the live game, in which angle, club, and a few taps on a button were the input. Subsequent video golf games have added topography, wind, spin, player ability and even, with the recent development of the Nintendo Wii, physical aptitude and luck. It is, essentially, a game of perfect physics, purposefully marred by a careful modeling of naturally chaotic variables.

The NPR/NYT-addicted goon that I am, I have been fully bombarded with the latest news on the Baghdad Wall imbroglio. Before I go any further, to fulfill the obligatory comparison:

The Wall in figures*

Overall length : 103 miles

Length inside Berlin : 26.8 miles

Length between Berlin and the GDR : 70 miles

Wall passing through inhabited areas : 23 miles

Wall passing through industrial areas : 10.6 miles

Wall passing through wooded areas : 18.6 miles

Wall passing through waterway areas : 14.9 miles

Length of concrete wall (13' high) : 66.6 miles

Metal fencing (9-13' high) : 40.5 miles

Anti-tank ditches (16'6" deep) : 0.6 miles

Anti-vehicle ditches (8' deep) : 65.5 miles

Surveillance tracks (20-23' wide) : 77 miles

Tracks with sliding cables for dogs : 259

Number of dogs : 600

Watch towers : 302

Concrete shelters : 22

Border guards : 14 000

Number of shots fired by border guards : 1 693

Bullet marks in the West : 456

Persons successfully scaling the Wall : 5 043

of whom members of the armed forces : 574

Persons arrested in the vicinity of the Wall : 3 221

Fugitives killed : 239

Soldiers and policemen killed : 27

Persons wounded : 260

Attacks against the Wall : 35

Building any kind of border wall is obviously a violent and incendiary event; however I'm not sure that the Berlin Wall is the best analog. The people discussing the Israeli/Palestinian border "systems" are probably more on track (morphologically and operationally).

I have to say, however, other than being struck dumb at the (escalating) hubris of our military, the most striking moment of this story was the way in which the military tried to spin the news: by referring to the walled area as a "gated community."

Jokes about accuracy aside, the equating of this controlled military compound with an Atlanta suburb makes my mind reel. Not because of the implication that people that live in suburban enclaves are self-imprisoned. It's rather the opposite that is staggering, the application of psychology of exclusivity to this violent rupture of one street from another. It makes me think: are we exporting fear along with "democracy?" Does the officially proclaimed and branded "American Way" have an intrinsically xenophobic core? It's true that our society (from any side) seems to have a new found obsession with purity, privacy, and control, and a growing fear of the collective and unconstrained. But is it perhaps this mindset, as much as a blindly jingoistic Washington, war profiteering, or a national thirst for oil, that is undercutting any kind of diplomatic success in these last eight years? We've never been that good of a people at self-understanding. Maybe we're all more fearful of our neighbors than we let on to ourselves.

*All numbers are from the incomparably fantastic book "The Ghosts of Berlin" by Brian Ladd.

am i that boring?

Talking to a younger version of oneself in books, films, and personal families has become so common as to need a name: how about "feedyack." In these events there is a lot of raised eyebrows and slow revelations, perhaps cryptic warnings; it's popularity has a lot to do with the fact that this is a guaranteed moment one can act like a sage.

I'm going to propose an alternate scripting. I think that talking to oneself would be immensely boring, and probably a waste of time. Do you ever write down word-for-word what you think in the shower in the morning, or right before you go to bed? When read back, 90% of the time it comes out mostly gibberish. Now imagine if one half of this self-conversation was even less mature, and there was the added confusion of time travel. After the (I can only assume) intense anticipation of the event, it would probably seem awkward and diminished. The fact that we naturally romanticize the past and future would also probably lead to a slightly disappointing self-impression as well.

So, should time travel become possible, stick to the dinosaurs and spaceships. As you've probably been told, one of you is more than enough.

off the cuff

If you've been paying attention to the links at the right, you might have noticed I've been looking at more product and industrial design news lately. I've had to swallow some of my architect-inferiority-complex-disguised-as-pride, but the more product-like nature of my work as of late has forced me into an eye-to-eye relationship, a very rewarding one that makes me need to examine why I've avoided this particular fiefdom of design for so long.

It's partially, of course, the collective pressure of the Dwell/DWR/Apple Store world that bounces off my naturally reactionary psyche. And I'm sure if I went deep enough I'd find some moralizing against conspicuous consumption. But I think the real reason I avoided looking at designs smaller than a house (or at least a taco truck) until recently was a (mis)perceived lack of depth-- I was always looking for the "real" innovation behind the scenes. I couldn't be convinced that something that was purchasable immediately and in mass quantities could be pushing the boundaries of possibility in any way. To put it simply (and kind of offensively), it didn't look difficult enough. This is condescension born of ignorance, I know. It took a gradual shift in a very stereotypical path - from furniture to lamps down into silverware - for me to realize that there are direct analogs that I was willfully ignoring. In some of these things there may be a lack of physical assemblage, but there is perhaps a greater mental assemblage, or at least a denser one-- more considerations, from ergonomics to copyrights, per cubic inch than in anything else in the world.

This is what makes these things suddenly so appealing -- to realize that they were forged, as it were, under intense mental pressures that extrude a unique object of ineffable value.

proto-jetsons

We recently lost the bottom two thirds of a power pole on Palms Boulevard. Perhaps because it is only carrying house current and low voltage lines, the city has allowed the remaining portion to hang, dangling askew from its adjacent poles, the streetlamp still functional. Shattered creosote pole is strewn all along the road and there is apocryphal "CAUTION: HIGH VOLTAGE" tape lying around, as well as a single road cone. Here, Katy took a picture.

For the last two days I've had this freakish totem waiting for me on my daily commute, stopping traffic and causing general unease. And while it has enacted an enormous transformation on its small dominion of road, I am beginning to get used to it being there. It makes me wonder if, in the future (pronounced fue-TCHA!), when all of our streetlamps levitate, how long it would take me to start ignoring them completely.

cop-out

Working like mad on a project tonight, so all I can do is quote a nested quote from the most completely awesome Eggleston trust website. The quote in question is photographer Robert Adams, quoted by John Szarkowski in what might be first great analysis of color photography as art.

"Over and over again the photographer walks a few steps and peers, rather comically, into the camera; to the exasperation of family and friends, he inventories what seems an endless number of angles; he explains, if asked, that he is trying for effective composition, but hesitates to define it. What he means is that a photographer wants form, an unarguably right relationship of shapes, a visual stability in which all components are equally important. The photographer hopes, in brief, to discover a tension so exact that it is peace.

"Pictures that embody this calm are not synonymous, of course, with what we might see casually out of a car window (they may, however, be more effective if we can be tricked into thinking so). The form the photographer records, though discovered in a split second of literal fact, is different because it implies an order beyond itself, a landscape into which all fragments, no matter how imperfect, fit perfectly."

The full text of the essay is here, and is chock-full of other readable revelations on photography that manage not to sound anything like Susan Sonntag.

MoWACAD

Katy told me today about MoWACs. That's Moms With A Camera. This is apparently the order of events generating this phenomenon:

1. "Prosumer" digital SLR cameras become relatively affordable.

2. Said cameras are given as presents to housewives.

3. Hundreds of pictures of children are taken.

4. Clever web programmers make some great templates for fantastic looking and user-friendly flash-based photographer websites.

5. Said housewives show pictures to friends, get comments, improve their craft incrementally.

6. Housewives begin taking pictures of friends' children. Or maybe their pets.

7. Photos are posted on said fantastically easy websites.

8. Home-based child/pet photography business are born, by the thousands.

Hence a MoWAC explosion. Many professional photographers seem peeved by this phenomenon. While I can appreciate how it could be obnoxious for someone with lesser skill and training to be appropriating one's vocation, and it is definitely true in most cases that the MoWAC photos probably do not measure up to the professional standard, this seems a little bit silly. None of these people were going to blow a grand on a pro for their kids' 3rd birthday. The Wal-Mart photo studio is probably losing some business to this. Not you, Mr. Avedon.

This is happening across the creative spectrum-- things like garage band and digital cameras are making the ranks of enthusiasts (and subsequently appreciation in general) swell for music production, photography, journalism, etc. However, the people attempting to make cottage businesses out of the same enthusiasms is undercutting the lower end of the market, while simultaneously eroding professional quality at that same end. I'd still rather have a lot of interest and a little overcrowding than some kind of Pro Himalayas, high above the masses, preaching to the choir.

Will rapid prototyping and the rapid democratization of 3d rendering lead to a whole new community of prosumer architects? It's already starting to hit the world of 3d animation and motion graphics. I'd better build some cred and get licenced before the masses drag me down.

hello, sidewalk

I apologize to both of you for the weekend-long pause; as one of you knows there was a wedding this weekend that took up a great deal of time. It did give me the opportunity to go home, however, and I got to play one of my favorite games: trying to see my hometown as for the first time. This is probably impossible, but having Katy in the car can be very helpful.

At one point I was lost in quasi-suburban Kansas City, and I mentioned that the area looked different than the one I was searching for. Fifteen minutes later, I remarked that I'd finally found the right neighborhood. "This looks more like it," I said. Katy told me she couldn't really tell the difference.

As I was driving home I started to think about what distinguishes one suburb from another. I'm not talking about whether the shopping center has a red tile roof, or the fancy water-jet-cut metal-and-stone welcome sign. I'm talking about the generic streets between subdivisions, the fabric of the area. And this is exactly what makes the difference. Curb cuts, streetlights, medians and retaining walls. Once you start looking for these things they begin to take over, as the secret language of exurbia. It makes me want to see a place where these typologies are liberated, where the curbs fly off into a field, escaping the road, and the streetlights suddenly are only 8 feet high, marching up a lawn and onto the sidewalk. If these things are going to define my hometown, I'd like for them to be a little less subservient.

on the road

Andrew's wedding is this weekend! It's like the last six months never happened. I'm about to get packin', but before I do a tidbit on air travel:

The sky is measured with invisible lines called "Victor airways." These are direct vectors between points of navigation called VORs. From 1,200 to 18,000 feet, planes use these vectors like roadways. Traffic is stacked vertically, and opposite directions are alternated. The minimum vertical clearance is 500 feet. Jet travel is above 18,000 feet, and these planes generally have sophisticated enough avionics to be cleared for direct navigation, triangulating between VORs to make their own route.

This system is built on technology over 50 years old. In many cases GPS is just as accurate; with the direction things are going VORs will probably be obsolete within the decade. This marks a phase shift in navigation; we are no longer marking out lay lines on the globe; once again we are turning to the sky to find out where we are. The points of reference are in constant motion above, instead of fixed below. Distance is once again relative, not absolute.

The older VORs cone-shaped housings for antennas that spin at 1,800 revolutions a minute, changing its broadcast continuously to mark different directions. One of these sits just up the hill from our house at the Santa Monica Airport. Pretty soon it will stop marking the earth, and its continuous whine will stop, replaced by silent points of reference above.

filled to the brim

The advancement of technology (and the parallel acceleration of the market economy) seems to be attempting to atomize everything from solid and monolithic to heterogeneous honeycombs. Everything that modern production touches is made less substantial and more complex. This is done in the name of sustainability and affordability and usability, and all of these abilities are great, but when one is taking toll of their physical presence in life, instead of a solid oak table with a brass lamp we have powdercoated aluminum and PTFE. It's not terribly original (and quite reactionary to boot) to bemoan the lost of "honest" materiality, but this abrupt change in the stuff of our existence is a little to pervasive to be unacknowledged. To my mind, it's the difference between standing on firm ground and shifting sand; the very reality of our surroundings is being challenged not only by allusion and mass production, but by the occult nature of the material itself. To not see the link between an object and its source is to lose a little bit of everyday poetry.

This is not to say that I need a rough-hewn iPod. Like i said, a sustainable and high-tech future is going to rely heavily on composites and advanced forms of production. But why is everything proprietary? I'd like to know what is in my plastics and alloys, no matter how complicated. What country does it come from? Who made it? What was left over? Anyone who doubts the intrinsic emotional value in this kind of data has only to go to any consumer product-rating website: we are obsessed with our stuff. We want to know every detail about our purchases, not only from an accountability standpoint (will this coffee maker give me thyroid cancer?) but because we are in love with our things. This is not the evils of advanced capitalism, this is human nature. Think of Excalibur, or the Maltese Falcon, the Holy Grail. Yes, these objects stood for something greater, but they also have faint echoes in every knife, cup and tchochke in existence. All I'm asking is that we forgive the things we own, and maybe get to know them a little better.

calling all crits

May I make a request? If you're reviewing a project (or completing one, for that matter), and a complex and tortured form/schema/representation is justified solely through talk of "liminal spaces," "seen/being seen" or any kind of celebration of complex social/antisocial interaction, mediated and intensified by the complexity of said form/schema/representation, ask them what their project does that the LA Farmer's Market/Grove Shopping Center does not do for profit every day. Spending a few hours suspended in froth can be enjoyable, but if you're really going to talk about something it should probably be better anchored lest it blow away or melt in the midst of conversation.

i prefer mine in bronze

We got cut off on the 5 by a salt-rusted Explorer yesterday and Katy exploded. "Gold cars!" she said. Apparently they drive more aggressively than black, white, silver, or even red. Not only had I not noticed this statistical anomaly, but I hadn't before noticed consciously a gold automobile in my entire life.

In the last 24 hours, I have been accosted by 24k cars. Three more blasted by in the left lane on the way to Encinitas. Parking spaces have been crowded in by gilded Jeeps and Oldsmobiles. I think they're replicating behind my back, silent automitosis. Like killer bees, they will terrorize the country before eventually settling in Mexico and the desert Southwest. So prepare. The allergic will want to stock up on extra epi-pens and better insurance. They will attack in swarms, without provocation. No one is safe.

verify in field

I've been working on some as-built drawings, which tends to skew your mental state the same way playing Mario Kart change the way you drive immediately after you play it. For the last few hours, dimensions have been paramount. Actual thicknesses and distances, not ideal or even perceived measurements, are what rule the day. It makes me wonder what as-builts could be for a totally alien architecture... what if your existing measurements were of transparency and clarity, or trace minerals in the air? What if I was tabulating the existing smell?

Architecture, as it is taught, is obsessed with dimensions. This is rightfully so; the first step to telling someone how to build something is to tell them how big it is. But, given my current employ as a midcentury modern crusader, I am left wondering if perhaps we're not a little too obsessed with precise alignments and modules. When architects talk about "flushing things out," they're not discussing ritual purging. In all of this painstaking work nudging surfaces into position, we might be missing something equally vital about other characterizations of the space. Like, for instance, what it is for. Or how it sounds.

Or maybe we should just go metric so I don't have to deal with sixteenths.

three semi-universal truths dicovered, in company, while mildly drunk

1. If you vehemently believe that the rest of the world hates you and is out to screw you over, than the converse is probably true, in reality.

2. The negative traits you notice most vocally in other people, and with the most particular revulsion, are most likely the ones that you exhibit yourself.

3. The Pixies get better the louder they are played. If there was a stereo that could be infinitely loud, than they would approach infinite awesomeness.

quantifying introspection

The arbitrary post-a-day quota I've imposed upon myself leads to some odd self-judgement. If I don't step outside of routine task-solving or blank consumption within a given 24 hours, does this mean that I have failed? If I don't extrapolate my morning oatmeal or evening ice-cream into a judgement on the human condition, should I feel guilty?

It reminds me of a subway ad I used to see all the time for a school of "applied philosophy." It seemed to imply that there is a lesson-planned way of escaping what it called "habitual existence." As opposed to "occasional existence?" I do like the idea that through philosophy I might be able to escape existing altogether, but I'm not sure that's what they meant. In any case, if I go a day without introspection, I'm going to feel guilty, but I probably shouldn't. Case in point.

some blinds in my life

W. 110th Street, Leawood, KS: Wooden Slats with nylon ropes, blue and white striped upholstered valence, double-hung, view of the driveway.

Jones College, Rice University, Houston: blue-tinted film over single-pane, overlooking courtyard under construction.

W 119th Street, Leawood KS: Some odd plastic/fabric hybrid shade, milky white, blocking a golf course.

North Blvd, Houston: Homemade muslin curtains, tea-dyed with tiny brown spots, vinyl with snap-in muntins, parking lot beyond.

37a Bedford, NY: none. flaking overpainted wooden frame with fan. brick courtyard.

Rue Taylor, Paris: fraying yellowed gauzy grandma-drapes, ancient full-height windows, third floor, rainsoaked asphalt.

Beethoven Street, Los Angeles: vertical blinds hidden by gold drapes with a red pattern that is sometimes flower shapes, sometimes intersecting circles. guava and limes, ferns and flowers and chainlink beyond.

portraiture and techno-beach

First off, Katy needed a quick portrait taken today, and I think I did a fabulous job:














Afterwards, we went to our new favorite beach, where Katy took this picture. Yes, our favorite beach is at the end of the LAX runway. Planes take off at predictable intervals: 2 1/2 minutes when it's not busy and around every 20 seconds when it is. Due to the magnetic effect of Manhattan and Venice Beaches (and the near-constant rumble), this little stretch gets very few visits, and that suits me just fine. Jetwash and wave action make a remarkably meditative sound combination, and watching steel float is sublime in a complementary way to endless saltwater and powdered seashell. Add in the distantly visible power plant, and a parade of barges and sailboats, and this it's like being in the jaws of some industrial recreative machine.

sounds:places

The White Album (esp. Back in the USSR) = my parent's old basement, with Mexican tile that was cool to the touch with rough grouting that tore at your feet.

Mid-Period REM = the upper half of my white laminate stereo cabinet in my old house. Acrid smell. Middle School.

Soul Coughing = My high school Volvo. At night.

First two Modest Mouse albums = my freshman year dorm's lofted bed.

Gang of Four = KTRU. 2am. Looking out the tiny window while eating a granola bar.

Allman Brothers = Katy's car, long road trips in the Western U.S.

Any This American Life Episode = any delicate model work involving tweezers. Overcaffeination.

Belle and Sebastien = See above

Built To Spill, Perfect from Now On = Dodge Neon, pine forest smell, windows open.

Neutral Milk Hotel = sublet apartment in Houston, neighbor would play Two Headed Boy at 2am on the piano and trumpet.

Johnny Cash = pretty much anywhere post-freshman year of college.

Velvet Underground = NYC (obvious but true)

Otis Redding = the kitchen in my current home.

I could go on but I think you get the point.